


Dreams for the Now

by Malvolia



Category: Willow (1988)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malvolia/pseuds/Malvolia
Summary: When Kiaya's husband, Willow Ufgood, embarks on a quest that takes far longer than either had anticipated, Kiaya is left to keep farm and family going, and to confront old fears.
Relationships: Willow/Kiaya
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Dreams for the Now

Kiaya woke one morning to silence. No rattling from outside as her father gathered his blade-sharpening equipment for another day traversing the roads of the village. No humming from the kitchen as her mother made breakfast. Not even birdsong.

"Mama?" she called quaveringly. "Dada?"

She pulled herself to stand, looked out the window, and saw a deserted village. No people, ponies, pigs. She turned around and caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, the only person left in all of the world, and too small to get along in it.

She screamed in panic and tried to leap out of bed, to go anywhere but this house that used to hold her family. 

Her feet on the cold flagstones woke her seconds before her mother rushed through the door and pulled her into her arms.

"It was a dream, bobbin; only a dream," her mother murmured to her in the darkness, as Kiaya's ragged sobs dwindled into hiccups. "You'll never be alone. We'll always be here."

Which was a pleasant enough lie that she rehearsed every time the dream recurred.

At sixteen, Kiaya found herself staring into the mirror in an empty house, having just returned from burying both of her parents in the aftermath of the plague that had swept through the village. 

"It's a dream," she muttered. "Only a dream." 

This time, no one came running when she screamed.

* * *

Willow, the childhood friend she had often teased for having his head in the clouds, had proven in the wake of crisis to have the steadiness of a rock. He was the only bright spot in the year that followed the plague, the only person who made her believe she might have more than mere survival ahead of her.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of the future?” she asked him one day, as they walked through the forest gathering edible roots for her to take back to plant in her garden.

He shrugged. “I suppose everybody is, a little.”

“Some of us more than a little,” she replied, tossing a few acorns into her basket alongside the roots. He looked to her with concern, and she smiled and shook her head. “What are you afraid of, then?”

“Being what everybody else expects. Just another run-of-the-mill Nelwyn.” He grabbed one of the acorns and tossed it into the air, catching it halfway and then opening his fist to show her an empty palm.

She laughed. “It’s too late for that fear to come true.”

With a flourish and a grin, he produced the acorn from behind her ear. Her breath caught slightly as his hand brushed her face, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see the rising flush there.

“What do you see, when you look to the future?” he asked.

 _You_ , sang in her heart, and _losing you_ struck a sour chord, but she squelched both impulses. “I can’t be sure of anything, really. That’s the worst part.”

They gathered in silence for a while before he spoke again. “You’re afraid things will change; I’m afraid they won’t. Our fears cancel each other out.”

Eyes on the forest floor, she matched the lightness of his tone. “Together, we’re fearless!”

The weight of his touch landed on her shoulder. “Kiaya,” he said quietly.

She glanced sideways at him.

“Together,” he said, and this time his hand found her face with certainty, “we’re magic.”

In that instant, Kiaya stopped being afraid of the future.

Mostly.

* * *

In the instant Burglekutt nominated Willow to return the Daikini baby back to her own people, fear came rushing back to Kiaya's waking life. There wasn’t a moment she thought her husband might turn them down, and even in her terror over what his journey might bring, she loved him for his honor, his loyalty, and the giant heart sitting just below the blustering responsibility he had layered over it. _Under no circumstances is anybody to fall in love with that baby, indeed_ , she thought, tears tickling the corners of her eyes.

It wasn’t until the night after the group left the village, when Ranon and Mims were tucked in bed and sleeping, that she let the tears fall, muffling her sobs in her husband’s pillow so as not to wake their children. When her chest constricted, and her breathing started to come in shallow gasps, she forced herself to sit up, put her head between her knees, and measure her inhalations and exhalations.

The episode passed, and she leaned back against the wall, still breathing in for a count of four and exhaling for a count of eight. She hadn’t had an attack like that since nearly a decade ago now, finding her feet after the deaths of her mother and father. The plague had taught her that idyllic circumstances could change in a matter of days, but she had also learned that she had it in her to fend for herself when they did.

True, last time there had been Willow. But he hadn’t been with her constantly, not in those first few years before they were married. And this time, there still _was_ Willow. She refused to let herself believe, _truly_ believe, that his absence was anything other than temporary. Reaching a hand to the cropped edges of her hair, she imagined him, somewhere a day’s journey from the village, fingering the braid she had gifted him for luck and thinking of her. She wouldn’t want worry on her behalf keeping him from what he had to do. And Ranon and Mims would miss their father enough without seeing their mother’s anxiety on his behalf.

Kiaya and Willow had grown so much together over the past decade, learned so much about managing the land and maintaining a home, and even though he was gone (for now), there was still land to be managed. Still a home to be maintained, ready and waiting for him to return.

Clutching his pillow to her heart, she lay down and finally fell asleep.

She dreamed of mirrors in empty houses.

Not for the last time.

* * *

Nearly three weeks later, Kiaya was in the market with eggs she had brought to sell when she heard a commotion in the streets, cries of “They’re back!” filling the air. Her heart rose into the sky and came down with a thud at the words, “Where’s Willow and Meegosh?”

She left the eggs, told Ranon and Mims to stay put, and hurried out from under the market canopy. Scanning the gathering crowd, she found Vohnkar and pushed her way through to him.

“Where’s Willow?” she asked.

“Your stupid husband thinks he’s better at looking out for a Daikini baby than an actual Daikini,” Burglekutt answered. “We met a perfectly good caretaker at the crossroads, but Willow Ufgood’s delusions of grandeur wouldn’t let him leave the brat.”

With incredible restraint, Kiaya did _not_ slap Burglekutt across the face. “So he and Meegosh are still waiting there?”

“Who knows?” Burglekutt said. “Could be they’re storming the stronghold at Nockmaar by now.”

Vohnkar stepped forward. “There was a Daikini at the crossroads. Hopefully Willow will come to his senses soon and release him.”

“Release him?” Kiaya was confused. “Release him from where?”

The warrior had the decency to look discomfited. “He was in a crow’s cage when we found him. But it could have been a misunderstanding.”

Kiaya could hear Willow’s protests as surely as though she had been there herself. He would never have left the baby with a criminal.

“I’m sure he’ll be a few days behind us,” Vohnkar added.

“How’s the farm?” Burglekutt jeered. “Ready to sell that useless plot of dust?”

Kiaya straightened to her full height. “With the crops nearly reaching Ranon’s knees already? I don’t think so. The rains have been coming right on schedule, even without you here.”

Burglekutt grimaced. “Careful, Ufgood,” he said, and Kiaya felt an unanticipated thrill of pride at being addressed in the threatening tone. “You’re going to need friends when the winter comes.”

“By the time the winter comes, I expect my best friend will have returned,” she replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the bobbins.”

Four breaths in, eight breaths out, she turned on her heel and walked away without a backward glance.

* * *

Meegosh returned the next morning, but he was alone. Over mugs of tea in the Ufgood kitchen, he told Kiaya of the Daikini swordsman, Madmartigan, who had promised to bear the baby safely back to their people. He told her how he and Willow had turned for home, and how despite Willow’s doubts they might both have been there now, were it not for the fact that the baby came whooshing over their heads, carried by a bird of prey ridden by a brownie. And he told her of the fairy forest, and of how Elora Danan (which, it seemed, was the baby’s name) had chosen Willow to be her guardian.

Kiaya understood that Willow had sent Meegosh on his way. What she didn’t understand, though she tried to hide it, was how Meegosh could have listened to him; how he could have left his best friend all but alone in the forest. The only thing that kept her disappointment from turning to bitterness was the contrition etched all over his kind face when he apologized as he left.

“I’m so sorry, Kiaya,” he said. “I’ve regretted leaving him almost since the second I did. But I’m no explorer; I don’t even know which way Tir Asleen is from here, let alone from the middle of a forest outside the crossroads. I barely made it back except that Burglekutt’s so wide he broke half the branches along the paths we took to get there in the first place.”

“It’s north,” Kiaya said absently. “Tir Asleen is to the north.” She forced a note of hope into her voice. “And it’s closer to the village than the crossroads is, so it’s practically on the way home.”

“Really? I’m glad.” Meegosh shuffled in the doorway. “I’ll come by sometimes, til he comes back. See if you need any help.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “You’ll have enough to do working in the mines. The bobbins and I have things well in hand.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

She nearly insisted, but then she caught sight of her reflection in the window behind him. Maybe not everyone used a scream to cry out for comfort; maybe some felt better imagining they were the ones extending it to you.

She accepted his offer. 

* * *

There were other commotions, other crowds, in the months that followed. Kiaya stopped running to meet them. In fact, she felt her limbs grow heavy at every hint of chaos. Willow had been away three times as long as Meegosh had by now, and she had no way of knowing what had happened to him since the fairy forest. She knew that a straightforward journey to Tir Asleen and back wouldn’t have taken him so long, knew that something must have happened. She could only hope it was something temporary.

One day, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of her sister-in-law. They hugged each other tightly, and both cried a bit, and Kiaya wasn't sure if they were crying because of Willow, or because she and Soreen had only communicated by letter since before Ranon was born. Maybe a bit of both. 

Soreen fussed over her niece and nephew, told stories of her three children and life in their own village, and marveled at the progress on the farm. 

“Father wouldn't believe it,” she said. “And probably still wouldn't give Willow any credit for it, other than maybe for being smart enough to marry you.”

Considering how he had undervalued and badgered his son throughout his life, Kiaya had always had difficulty speaking of Schnorr Ufgood with respect. She didn't trust herself to do so now, so she answered obliquely. “Willow works very hard. He’s a good provider.”

Her sister-in-law didn't ask where Willow was, and since Kiaya hadn't mentioned anything about his journey in her letters, that made her suspicious.

“Who told you?”

Soreen sighed. “Meegosh wrote us. He thought you could use a friendly face.”

“I'm surrounded by friendly faces,” Kiaya countered, which was not _technically_ a lie, even though she had never made friends easily, and what friendliness she had experienced had cooled rather than warmed since Willow left. Soreen gave her an astute look so reminiscent of her brother that Kiaya's chest ached. “It was good of you to come.”

“It's a big farm for one person to run. Can you afford the seeds?”

“I was the one who taught Willow how to forage for seeds and roots, remember? The bobbins have learned, too. Besides, Willow will be back before the next planting.”

Her sister-in-law looked toward the river. “If he isn't...”

Ice ran down Kiaya's spine. “He will be.”

Soreen's eyes glistened. “You could move out by us,” she said. “Any time you like. I hate to think of you here alone.”

“Don't,” Kiaya snapped. “We're managing.”

Managing everything except the pitying looks on everybody's faces, the same as the look Soreen was giving her, and she desperately wished it wouldn't be rude to dismiss her back to her village the same afternoon she had arrived. But of course she must have traveled for days, so that wasn't an option.

“I can stay for a week,” Soreen said. “I expect to be put to work.”

“It will be good to have your company,” Kiaya said, and she was almost sure it would be. “Willow would be so pleased to see you. He could be back before you leave.”

But he wasn't.

* * *

“Is Dada ever coming home again?” Mims asked one night after her aunt had left.

“Of course he is,” Kiaya soothed her. “He’s just running a little late.”

“What if he ran into trolls?” piped up Ranon. “Or a giant two-headed dragon? Or an army?”

Kiaya shook her head. Sometimes her eldest was a little _too_ much like his father. “Then just think of all the wonderful stories he’ll have to tell you when he comes back.”

“Will trolls eat Dada’s face off?” Mims asked, her lower lip trembling.

“Certainly not,” scoffed Kiaya. “Your father is much too smart for that.”

“And faster,” Ranon said confidently. “He can definitely outrun a troll. He always catches _us_ , Mims, remember?”

She nodded dubiously, obviously uncertain that she was as fast as a troll.

“Besides, Dada’s a sorcerer. He knows magic. Trolls don’t know magic.”

Mims was more confident as she nodded again.

“Isn’t that right, Mama?” Ranon asked.

Kiaya hesitated, but only briefly. Willow might not have the same magical abilities as the High Aldwin, but she knew one area at which he excelled.

“There is nothing in this land or any other that could keep your father from you,” she said, drawing both children into an embrace. “He won’t let trolls or dragons or armies stand in his way.”

Saying it out loud felt powerful, like a spell.

“He will come home to us,” she said, leaning into the bloodstream of the universe in the only way she knew how, in the only magic she believed in with her whole heart. “Your father loves us. As much as we love him.”

“A lot and a lot!” Mims exclaimed.

“A lot and a lot,” Kiaya agreed. She touched the ends of her hair, nearly to her shoulders now. “He’ll be home. He’ll be home as soon as he can.”

After the bobbins had fallen asleep, Kiaya stared into her mirror for a long time. She had never seen so much of her mother there before. Neither woman had been powerful enough to hold things as they once were.

"My love," she said, squinting at the glass to see her mother speaking to her, "we are here now. It is all we have; now. Don't dream it away."

She slept more soundly than she had in months.

* * *

Kiaya used to love looking at the roses, but this year their colors seemed muted, their fragrance less intense. She was wondering if flowers were blooming yet in Tir Asleen when loud cheering and laughter ahead of her broke through her reverie.

She looked up, and was sure she must be dreaming, finally not a nightmare, finally looking beyond the mirror to someone else's face.

“Kiaya!” cried Willow, launching himself off the white pony he had been seated on.

“Willow?” she breathed. She felt Mims and Ranon stop walking, which is how she knew she had.

“Kiaya!” He broke through the crowd and raced towards her.

“Willow!” she shouted, sure that this time he was real, that it wasn’t a dream, and not sure that she wouldn’t burst from the joy of it. “Willow!”

He called her name again, and then he was hugging her, and the bobbins, and the crowd was closing around all of them, and he was shaking hands with everybody in the village, but his left hand was always on her arm, or Ranon’s shoulder, or Mims’ head, seemingly as eager as she was to absorb the reality of this moment.

* * *

The bonfires and dancing and impromptu feasting hadn’t ended until well past Ranon and Mims’ bedtime, and the two were sleeping soundly before they had even been tucked in for the night.

Willow had told the broad outlines of his story over and over throughout the evening. Ranon had been especially gratified to hear about the dragon, the armies, and the trolls. To the confusion of most people present, Mims had jumped up and down yelling, “They didn’t eat your face off!” Kiaya had sat quietly, drinking in her husband the adventurer, thrilled less at the tales of action than at the confidence radiating off him. No run-of-the-mill Nelwyn, this one. Never once to her. Never to anybody else, ever again.

Now, sitting by their fireplace, he had the leisure to express his own wonder.

"Burglekutt told me the crops wouldn’t get planted,” he said. “I knew you better than that, but Kiaya…from the look of the place, I think you’re a better farmer than I ever was.”

“Well,” she said, “you were never a farmer at heart, were you?”

He laughed. “What gave it away?”

She stretched up to kiss him, then snuggled against his side.

“Willow Ufgood, mighty sorcerer. What’s in your future?”

“Nothing that scares me,” he replied. “Not so long as we have each other. What dreams for Kiaya Ufgood, capable farmer?”

“No dreams,” she said. “Just...now.”

He put his arm around her shoulder, and she put her hand against his heart. Tomorrow would be different than all the yesterdays, but every tomorrow was. Yesterday's tomorrow held wonderful things, and though who was to say that was to be the pattern from here on out, who was to say it wasn't?

So they sat—fearless; magic; together—watching the fire burn to embers.


End file.
